In my heyday, (the early 1950s), I was a real football hotshot in the making for the Lancaster High School, or so I thought. However, some of my former Blue Hurricanes classmates will probably refute the notion that I was anyone’s gridiron hero, so I had best not brag too much about my football prowess. Why, you ask? Because nothing is worse than being exposed. You know, it’s sorta like loosing your swim trucks while coming through the underwater gate at the old Springs Swimming Pool. Now, back in the o

At one time, the significance of Nov. 11 – Veterans Day – wasn’t lost on anyone. Of course, World War I ended years before I was born, but Uncle Harry made sure I was well-schooled on what he called the Great War or the War to End All Wars. There was a bunch of World War I soldiers around, too. Come to think of it, Mr. Jim Mahaffey (the grandfather of James, Ralph and Doris) lived just up the street from me. Mr.

Our future isn’t about Buck Rogers and spaceships that cruise to far-away galaxies at the speed of light.It’s about family.As I get older, I frequently think about what the future holds.What will it be like?Marble and bronze statues are erected to famous folks and heroes so they will be remembered by future generations.But I often wonder if those who stand on their shoulders will even care.Ten months ago, I was blessed with a great-grandson who will carry my family name into the future.Hopefully he

You know, I was kind of glad to see paper carriers get their due during National Newspaper Week.We should honor those who deliver the local news to our homes.Newspapers have been called many things from rags and birdcage liners to sources of enlightenment.Nothing is more aggravating than a walk to the street on a cool, crisp morning to find an empty tube (that’s industry lingo for a paper box).

One hot summer afternoon, our mailman showed up on the porch with the Fall and Winter catalog from Sears, Roebuck and Co.The best part of its arrival was that the honor of tearing off the brown wrapping belonged to me.I ripped the covering off, opened it and held it close to my face to smell the pages that were crammed full of all kinds of good stuff.Then, a sign straight from heaven gates descended down to our kitchen table.Bless Pete, it was a bona fide miracle; the pages fell open to the bicycle section.There in color – wa

I recall reading somewhere that fishing is now a sport. That’s not necessarily the case.It can’t be very sporting for the fish unless he is as big as Jaws.As boys, we didn’t have to worry about size, too much and we sure didn’t have to worry about the limit. To me, this fishing was never the fun part. Getting ready to go, was.I didn’t have to worry about running down to the nearby bait shop, either.

Me and Billy Pipkins were lucky. We managed to make it back behind friendly lines unscathed after a fierce battle with a German infantry division encamped over in the Red Hills.When it comes to espionage, timing is everything.Speaking of timing, it was after five o’clock and we had to get home for supper.We marched passed Charlie Cook’s house and the Wilson Brothers Bus Lines garage in formation and made our way toward the railroad crossing on Market Street.Good thing I found these genuine U.S.